Angry letters
by Harry myrdhin
Summary: A young Harry Potter has been the victim of the errors of an old man. Feelings of desperations and anger will save him from a miserable existance and a mysterious pen pal will save him form being consumed by those said feelings. Ish-dumbledore!bashing future harry/fleur (if i ever get to 4th year).


Prologue

October 31 1981

The thundering noise of a motorcycle filled the air of the dark place that was currently Privet Drive. In the sky you could see the light of a headlight, shining through the darkness that had been set upon the suburban street.

Seconds later, a flying motorcycle landed. The light emanating from the engine was cut off, plunging the area in the dark once again. The conductor, though, had the time to spot two figures standing still in front of one of the many lookalike houses of the street.

Heading towards them, the conductor, the Hogwarts groundkeeper, Hagrid, took what seemed to be a pile of blankets. He was carrying it as softly as was possible for a half-giant.

"Professor Dumbledore, professor Mcgonagall" he greeted once he had reach the standing figures.

"Good to see you Hagrid" said Dumbledore "I trust you got young Mr. Potter here without any problems." he added with a wide smile.

"Sure do professor, but what are we doin here, ain't it a muggle place?" Asked the giant.

"This" Dumbledore pointed the house in front of witch they were standing. "is the residence of young Harry's last living relatives. From this day till his arrival at Hogwarts, he will stay here, under the protection of Lily Potter, which I will make sure lives on with her sister Petunia."

"I spied on those muggles for the last 12 hours Albus." Proclaimed Mcgonagall "I know you probably did something similar. You wouldn't take the decision to put the new sweet heart of magical Britain in a muggle environment without any prior knowledge of the situation. Brashness never defined you correctly."

The old warlock only smiled sadly at her in response.

"Will you honestly sacrificed 10 years of happiness for some safety you could probably match closely somewhere else?" demanded the transfiguration mistress.

With a last look at the headmaster's smile that hadn't wavered during her short argument, she apparaded away.

Hagrid was still standing awkwardly on the side when Dumbledore turned an inquisitive stair his way. Seeming to search for his approval. He didn't really need it, but his old heart was always compelling him to search for the approval of the people he trusted, unfortunately the strength of his logical mind had never let him be swayed by the opinions of others. It was both a flaw and a quality.

Not wanting to answer the unasked question Hagrid quickly took his leaves saying he needed to get the motorcycle back to its rightful owner, as it was only lent to him to help in the transport of the baby hero. Again, someone was not agreeing with him. The loyalty he knew Hagrid had for him making the rejection more painful than it should have been.

However, the departure of his friend suited the old wizard just fine as he needed to have a talk with the boy's relatives and he had a sneaking suspicion it wouldn't be pleasant. He started to make his way to the door. Once he reached it, he pressed the bell.

Minutes later the face of Petunia Dursley appeared behind the open door, her expression one of fury. Dumbledore didn't seemed to noticed and smiled.

"My sincere apologies for disturbing you at such an impromptu hour Mrs. Dursley, but this is about your nephew and it could not wait." Dumbledore explained.

The expression of fury caused by being woken up in the middle of the night had gradually disappeared as the implication of the wizards being involved was setting in. It was now disdain that was on her face as she spoke. "Well, what did my stupid sister do this time. Talk! I value my sleep." Petunia said imperiously.

"This, I'm afraid, is not a simple matter and I will need to come in" he responded

After a brief staring contest, she sighed, resigned, though a frown still mered her features, and started to walk toward the living area, Dumbledore following her closely, with baby Harry still out of sight, wrapped in his blanket.

Once seated and facing each other, Dumbledore started.

"I'm sad to have to tell you that your sister died earlier tonight alongside her husband, while protecting their son from a powerful dark wizard"

Petunia was stoic for a few moments, processing the information, then she sneered. "I always new your freak world would only bring bad luck to my family. First my parents, and now my sister."

It was true. The Evans had been targeted after the news that the heir of an old pure blood family had married a mudblood became public. They had been killed as a lesson to the other muggleborns. Warning them of what would happen should they decide to 'taint' an old and respectable bloodline.

"I admit I had hoped for a different reaction, but I guess it doesn't matter anymore."sighed the sorcerer. "What does matter, is the fact that the sacrifice of your sister somehow granted her son some blood based protections. To keep such an advantage is imperative and the only way to do so is by one of the boy's blood relative to willingly and knowingly take him in." Finished Dumbledore

Petunia left a short laugh escape her mouth before taking back a serious face and coldly replying "there's no chance of that happening."

"I would be willing to accommodate you as much as possible, magic is truly wondrous and I am sure I could make up a convincing offer if you told me what you want." said Dumbledore seriously.

This comment was followed by an eerie silence that stretched on a few seconds.

"I do have three things I need you to do for me to willingly take him in." Said Petunia, breaking the silence.

"And what exactly are those things?" said Dumbledore out loud. The headmaster anxiously waited for the conditions because, as with many of the more powerful magic, intent was a big factor. He would have to make sure every conditions were fulfilled at all times for the protections to stay strong.

"Alright, I will take the brat willingly if: one, you make him invisible to anyone who isn't a freak or a member of my family, two, you send no one to spy on us and three you will never involved yourself in our life from tomorrow onwards. And this till he has to go to your freak school." Said Petunia with disdain.

Albus was thinking quickly. 'If no one knows of Harry, they won't send him to school which is the only true problem. The other requests are inconvenient, as I will have to _obliviate _two of my staff members and will not be able to follow the boy's life. The fact that the boy-who-lived would be an illiterate at his entry at Hogwarts though, is the true problem. Although, there might be a solution. If I implente the knowledge of an average 11 years old in his mind an put up a temporary block on it, one that would last until his entry at the school, mixed with a two days confusion charm so Harry would simply accept the knowledge... yes yes it would work out well. I could even implant all the pure blood traditions in the boy subconscious as an apology of sorts, a gift. It would make sure he is accepted by his fellow wizards therefore reinforcing his joy to enter the wizarding world. If I only plant them in his subconscious it shouldn't draw any suspicions as he would not know them per say. He would simply use them without thinking.'

Proud of his idea the wizard offered Petunia a smile and accepted the terms of the agreement. His heart, still stinging from the disapproval of his two staff members seemed to have been soothe from what it perceived as a gift to the baby he was currently sentencing to 10 years of hardship.

The both of them then turned to the baby still sleeping on the table. Dumbledore got to work immediately. Starting by implanting the knowledge using legilimancy. He then pondered on the best method to hide harry from the world.

An extremely ironic idea came to mind : The fedilius. He would make himself the secret keeper and condemn the baby with the spell that fail to keep his parents alive. He would have to modify the spell a bit so it would not affect any magical form of life, as he didn't want anyone finding out the extent his wrong doings.

"It's done." Said Dumbledore "I trust you'll care for him as you do your own son." Empty words, he knew.

Petunia nodded curtly and Dumbledore took it as his cue to leave. Disappearing for Privet Drive with a faint 'pop'. Leaving the young saviour to years of suffering.

* * *

May 4th 1987

Spiders were interesting. They didn't hurt him, didn't mind him. So he tried to like them. In the total darkness of his cupboard he could imagine that they cared for him, protected him.

In the end though, the rational and logical part of him knew they were inconsequential and more than likely awaiting his demise to feast over him.

Tough for them. He never stayed down very long. His worst injuries, as painful as they were, disappeared quickly, too quickly for it to be normal, but it had always been like that for him so even if he knew that theoretically, it wasn't possible, he just ignored it.

As it was, he wasn't injured. The pain had gone away in a blink of an eye, his uncle hadn't been very hard on him this time. So he was left waiting. He was eager to come out as always. His chore list was growing longer and longer as he aged, and the days out of his prison were tiresome, but he cherished them none the less. The liberty he had was intoxicating these days. The Dursleys had started to become more reliant on him during the past year and a half and his aunt had started to go and gossip with fellow house wifes for longer periods of time when his uncle and older cousin were at work and at school respectively.

They thought they had broken his will, they had developed a feeling of safety, confident that he couldn't disobey anymore. He had work hard for that. Always acting subservient, respectful and fearful.

He'd started the act 2 years ago when he first became angry, no he hadn't been angry he had been desperate first, then, came the anger.

* * *

_Flashback_

March 14th 1985

Dudley was his older cousin. He was 5 years older than him and was 5 times larger than him. He had blond hair atop his fat head that always seemed to be sweating. Dudley had been nine for some time now and had been going to school for three years.

Today he was getting back from school with his usual scowl on his face. When he saw the freak attending the garden, he threw his bag full of books in his face. However, Harry Potter, or, 'freak', instead of feeling any emotions that should have arise in him during such a situation, felt curious. He was looking at an open book that had fallen from Dudley's bag. Seeing his interest, Dudley smiled widely.

"You'll never understand this thing freak" Dudley declared smugly. "To understand it, you need to go to school and dad told me that unnatural people like you don't deserve such privileges"

"Bu... but is it... is it important? The... the understanding I mean" asked Harry.

Dudley had a feeling he would enjoy this.

"Of course it is"Dudley said, admitting school was important wasn't something he did often, but if it was to hurt the freak he was all for it.

"If you can't read, you won't learn anything. Do you know what you'll become once you'll be a adult without knowledge? You'll become a begger, a nobody and a reject of society."Dudley finished with a gleeful expression at the sight of the desperate expression on the freak's face.

Having a sudden idea, Dudley ran home and picked up a book from his mother's library without checking witch one it was. When he got back down stairs, the freak was there with his backpack. He tored it out of his hands before throwing him the book.

"Keep it to remember yourself how stupid and useless you are, not even able to read a book."laughed Dudley.

Hours later, Harry Potter, four years old, was in his cupboard for the night. He wasn't being punished, so he was permitted a tiny light. Currently he was using it to look at the book that had been given to him. He was turning the pages and growing more and more overwhelmed by the extent of his ignorance. And the words of his cousin were playing over and over in his head. He started to cry over his apparently inexistent future, and then it started. The pain in his head was indescribable as an immaterial sledgehammer led by his desperation to understand seemed to slam against some kind of barrier in his head. Then he fell unconscious.

When he woke up, he was assaulted by knowledge and a headache that seemed inconsequential compared to what he now had. Knowledge of reading, writing, basic maths, and some more information known by every average child. For the first time in his life he realized he had been healing too fast. That the neighbors should have seen the traces of abuse left on his person or even just his person, they never seemed to see him.

This knowledge wasn't anything extraordinaire, but he could read now, he could learn by himself. He was even advance for a four years old. And now he would built upon this knowledge and become better. Starting by the only book he had. A book he could finally read the cover of: Intricacies of social interactions.

The book was in two part the first one, explaining correct behaviours in different types of relationships. This part was the one in which he got the confirmation that he was abuse and that the Dursleys were the freaks not him. The second part of the book though was even more interesting. It explained how certain types of behaviour send different types of subtle messages to the one with who you were interacting.

When he finished the book he was enraged. He was completely and utterly out of it and decided he needed to get out of this abusive home. So he wrote a letter.

To someone

I am four years old and I just can't take it anymore, if you're not a selfish and mean guy, save me. I am abused daily by my aunt and uncle. Do you even understand that? Probably not. Whoever gets this is probably normal, loved and complains for nothing while not knowing anything of the cruelty of the world. Just like my family you're living in your perfect bubble where the world is completely peaceful. But it's not my case I have the worst possible life. It's torture. I feel so helpless it hurts. I don't know enough to do anything. I can't get help. No one looks at me, and if I'd pass you in the street, you'd probably do the same. Why would you look at something that could pierce your bubble right?

Still going along with the tsunami of anger inside himself, he took the note and got out side. It was midday and he should be doing chores but not anymore. He needed to bring his note to... to... to who? He'd said it himself : No one cared to look at him, ever, why would they now?

He had to get out of this himself. The anger subsided, a more logical part of his mind taking over. He looked down at the letter his hands were still clutching. In a brief moment of weakness, he found himself desiring with all his might that someone would read his plea for help, his rage. It quickly left his mind when he reminded himself that he had to get out of this alone. He threw the piece of paper away and the wind carried it out of sight.

To get his ideas in order after all the emotions, he thought about the book he just read and a small smile appeared on his face. He would stay with the Dursleys, but he would not do nothing, he would learn. He would get out of this mess. He would manipulate them and take his freedom from them when they would expect it the least. The second part of the book especially came to mind.

Unknown to him, the letter he'd written and gave up on just a couple minutes ago would aid him in this goal more than anything else he would do. It would be his motivation.

_End flashback_

* * *

Since then, he had read the book a couple more times and used its content to great effect. He modified his behaviour to suit the expectations of his relatives. Of course they still were mean and his uncle gave him beatings. But they were less and less suspicious of him. He had done everything he could to not be considered a threat and it worked.

He was now six years old, had a three hours free on Sundays, from four PM to 7 PM, where he could go away from privet drive and each day of the week, he was let alone at home for four hours to do chores. He had taken full advantage of this bit of freedom and was steeling food. He now knew that it was vital if he wanted a reliable and fully grown body later in his life. The work and the good diet kept him very fit and he did his chores as fast as possible.

When he was finished, he learned. Everything he could from Dudley's old school books to his aunt and uncle social and business manual. Of course he also put his three hours of free time to the same objective. He was now a frequent visitor of the library where he could find more advanced books.

His routine had never been broken in the two years since he had established it. It was all coming to an end though.

* * *

May 10th 1987

It was a Sunday, six years old Harry Potter was on his way to the library, lost in his thoughts, his bright green eyes looking at the gray sky his country was famous for without really paying attention to it. He was crossing the road, when a car suddenly turned the corner going at a speed way beyond the limit. All he could do was watch. He was petrified. Was it going to end like this? After two years of effort on his part, making progress by manipulating the Dursleys, carefully gaining more and more freedom. Was this his recompense? Dying early so not to suffer anymore? The mere thought enraged him. He'd endured so much, pain wasn't a punishment anymore, it was a motivation, not the best one but it worked none the less. He wouldn't settle for no pain, he wanted happiness.

His need to get out of the dangerous situation was strong, it got overpowering, the desperation and the anger coalescing into the need to get away. Then it happened. He felt like he was being sucked through a tube and after a second of the unpleasant sensation he found himself at the middle of the library. As usual no one looked at him, it was such a constant in his life that he thought it normal, even if he knew that in theory, it wasn't.

However, this, the teleporting, there was no way it was normal. Did he have super powers? That'd be very handy if he could control them, it could help to get him free of the Dursleys!

Excitement coursed through him, the excitement of a six years old. It was very rare now a days. The knowledge he'd acquired when he was four had made him mature very fast, rarely could his comportment be associated with his age.

Running as fast as he could out of the library he got to the park on Magnolia Cresent and started to replay to event in his mind. Every details of the incident, he analyzed.

It was a skill he was constantly working on. Ever since he started to manipulate his relatives, he analyzed his interactions with them to identified their different reactions and state of mind.

Dudley was the easiest to understand. He idolized his father and had a rapidly growing ego that he vehemently defended. Any show of superiority or insults meant towards him, his father and to a lesser extent his mother made him resort to violence very fast. Harry understood rapidly by analyzing his experiences with his cousin that a meek and respectful attitude was more than enough to escape Dudley's notice.

Vernon was pretty much the same most of the time. Although it was also more complicated because the life he led as an adult made his moods change sometimes. If he had a bad day at work his body language changed and Harry knew to thread carefully around him. But sometimes, beatings were inevitable. On the good days though, he was pray to Harry and his slight manipulation. If he was happy Harry would capitalize on it and maybe gain a new privilege.

His ant was the closest thing to fair that existed in Harry's life. She constantly belittled him, treating him like no more than a servant, but as long as the chores were executed to the satisfaction of her fellow members of the unofficial "Private Drive gossip club", she didn't make any further efforts to make his life more difficult.

After two years of practice he had the memory of the odd event analyzed in seconds. Two aspects of it stood out to him, the first one were the overwhelming emotions that had been coursing through him, and second was the need they had created in him. He didn't dwell much on the squeezing sensation and the teleportation it self as those were the consequences. He was searching for causes, ways to redo his deed.

Sitting on a swing in the park, he concentrated on trying to recreate the feelings, but he had to admit the fear of the threat on his life had put him in a state of panic which had been very efficient, but hard to recreate.

He'd also been a mess. That fact was not so comforting to him. Would He have to be panicking every time he wanted to use his ability?

Concentrating once again he experimented : 'Let's see, if I concentrate on a feeling instead of a memory, can I control it more easily?' Harry thought. 'Hum... It seems that concentrating on the feeling only and forgetting the memory weakens the emotion it self. Can I bind together the same emotion multiple times by extracting it from different memories to make it as strong as it was before I had extracted it in the first place? That would solve the problem right?'

And it did. While he work for a few minutes, eyes closed, swinging gently in the park, a barely noticeable breeze ruffling his unruly black hair, he never would have thought that performing this "analysis" of his feeling was an impossible task for any average muggle.

Once he finished coursing through the memories in which he'd felt desperation, he switched to anger. His task complete, he tried for a second time to recreate his previous feat by mixing the two emotions into a need to be gone.

When he opened his eyes they were glowing. He felt just like he had an hour or so ago before his teleportation. He felt success at his finger tips, the build up of energy felt empowering, it was reaching it's peek and Harry started to feel squeezed when suddenly it seemed to grasp at something it couldn't reach and died. The carefully, artificially crafted need to be gone disappeared leaving the orphan boy with another failure.

'I was so close!' Harry thought, furious with himself. 'Well now half my library time for the week is gone, but I'm not giving up on this. I felt the energy, it's real, it's powerful, it's special, I need this. It'll be like my secret weapon.' Then question started to pop in his mind, as if the dreamy part off himself was being questioned by his sense of logic.

'How far can I travel? A town? A country? A continent? Is that power I felt only capable of traveling? It seemed so powerful.' And more questions were left without an answer.

Eventually, he decided to simply try again. Going through the same process of categorizing his emotions and mixing them together to form an artificial need to get away. The same thing happened, the build up in power, the squeezing sensation and then the frustrating lack of results.

He went through the process six more times before his time was up. He went back to the Dursleys in a bad mood. The only progress made was the time it took him to craft the need. On his last attempt he only took 11 minutes to gather the feelings and create the need.

Arriving at Private, he made dinner for his relatives. His meek and obedient persona honed over the last years, was perfectly in place despite his inner frustrations. He successfully evaded his uncle attention and took as much food as possible, which was a good amount due to his uncle fairly relaxed mood.

Once in his cupboard, the mental and oddly enough also physical exhaustion caught up and he fell asleep before he could go over his memories of the day.

For the next two weeks, Harry Potter, who had basically been living the same day every day for the last two years rediscovered what it was to live. His focus, for those two years had been on gaining freedom from the Dursleys. It led him to study as much as he could, increasing his intellect exponentially, the knowledge he'd received when he was four telling him it was the only way. His drive made it impossible for him to stop, but since when does a six years old enjoy such a life?

Now that a new world of possibilities had been open to him on this fateful Sunday afternoon, he explored it avidly. And what a world it was. The first three days had been frustrating, as he'd only try to learn his teleportation skill, only to fail each time.

Eventually though, the questions he initially asked himself came back to his mind. _'__Is that power I felt only __capable of traveling?'_

During the fourth day of trials and errors, he finally saw results.

Harry was alone at Private Drive, he was done with his chores and had an hour and a half left before his ant would come back with Dudley after she'd picked at school, and uncle Vernon never came back before them.

Sitting on the carpet of the living room, an irritated Harry Potter was thinking intensely. For the last three days he'd been doing the same thing, refining his technique, creating a need to travel that always failed to get him anywhere. He always felt the build up of power, it was familiar to him by now just as the squeezing sensation was. The power always seemed to die out before it transported him though.

Today he had a different idea, and he hoped it would help him get pass his block.

'First, I separate the emotions from the memories, and put them in categories. Then I take those raw emotions, I mold them, they are my tools, my materials, and with them I create a need. Can I only create the need to travel?' Harry silently questioned. It was his new idea. 'Surely I can do more'

He went through the process once again, he had it down to seven and a half minutes now. Still using the two same emotions that had always driven him : despair and anger. Then he started to mold them, but in a different way. He'd decided that if he was some sort of magic person, he had to be able to make light. It took him longer to create a different need, but not to much, the technique was fairly similar.

When the energy build up started, he immediately noticed that it was a lot weaker. This information concerned him for a whole two seconds before, at the moment he would normally have felt the squeezing sensation, a little ball of light appeared in his left hand.

Harry immediately jumped up in the air and cried out to the empty home : "I did it. IT WORKS. I HAVE SUPER POWERS!"

At this precise moment all his gained maturity was forgotten and replace by a wonder that only a six years old could express.

When he calmed down a bit he stared at the light that was glowing even brighter than before. 'Time to experiment' he thought. 'First, why is it brighter than it initially was? Second, why was the build up less significant? Third, why does this work and not the teleportation? And finally, how much can I affect the light?'

He thought about it and couldn't come up with answers for the first three questions, so it left the fourth, for witch he needed some more experimentation.

Harry sat back down, closed his eyes and thought. 'I can still feel the energy but it isn't just built up, it's releasing itself through my hand, it's feeding the light.' He opened his eyes and concentrated on increasing the flow of energy, he quickly felt an increase in the draining of the energy. The ball of light was also clearly becoming brighter. 'But it became brighter on it's own without increasing the draining feeling only minutes ago.' He remarked in his head.

His ant and cousin were due to arrive in only half an hour so he decided to stop there for today and start to prepare Dudley's after school snack, which was more of a second lunch.

For the next two days he didn't do much progress, he used the little time he had to hone his skills, but he never figured out how he got the light so bright with so little draining on his first day.

So when Sunday came, he knew he would have lots of time to figure it out as he was mostly left alone on Sundays.

He made his way to the park calmly. A plan to uncover the secrets of his power forming. Sitting on the same swing he used a week ago, he started by analyzing his memory of his first creation of the light.

He understood instantly. 'How could I not see this? My light should have extinguish the moment my despair and anger were replaced by happiness, but instead the light got brighter! Different needs must be easier to craft with certain emotions. For example, happiness was a much better tool than anger and despair when it came to crafting the need for light. ' This would help him so much.

The process to extract emotion from memories took him a lot longer than usual, as he was a lot less familiar with his memories that contained happiness.

When he created his ball of light, it had never been brighter and the drain on the energy was minuscule. 'Well now that I know that, what other needs can I craft? And most importantly why can't I teleport!'

Despite the frustration cause by the lack of answer to this last question, the week that followed had been Harry's best since he could remember. During the week his interest in a mundane education met a brutal end and manipulating the Dursleys became pretty much irrelevant for him. The power, the power would get him out of there he just needed to refine his control over it.

The new conclusions he came up with at the end of the last week were proven true as he developed his power at an increasing speed. Each day he came up with a new need and crafted it. He could now create fire, water, he could move things without touching them and finally his favorite, he could turn invisible.

It felt amazing to him to progress so fast after he'd encountered so many blocks, but ever since he started to use the new technique of variating the emotions he used to create artificial needs, he had encountered one major problem. It was extremely time consuming to extract new emotions from memories, and this let him with very little time to actually determine which emotions were best to craft which needs.

The only solution he figured that had the potential to work was not an easy one unfortunately. His goal was to pre-categorize his memories in packs. Each packs would contain memories tied to an emotion in particular, so when he would need the emotion, he had pre-prepared memories ready to be used

He'd work on that every night of the week and it showed, but only when he used anger, which was the only emotion he had the time to finish, he could now bring up controlled anger in under two minutes.

As was the norm for Sundays, he was sitting in his usual swing and experimenting with his power. He was currently invisible, it had taken him a good 25 minutes to succeed, he had used shame and curiosity to craft the need.

However, his mind was not on his achievement, but on the cute little brown owl that had perched herself on his invisible shoulder and was extending her leg to him, a letter attached to it.

* * *

March 27th 1984

Daphne Greengrass was four years old today and she had the bestest life ever in her opinion. Her parents were perfect, her mother, Anastasia, always gave as much love as she could and her father, Daniel, was so strong. He was the best.

And today was her special day, the one she remembered from last year had been extraordinary, and she'd waited all year to get the other one she was promised. She wasn't too sure why the day she was born was still important after four years, but she new that the cake was not rationed at all one this day and she gots lots of nice other things.

Did she need more to be happy? not really. But this year her parents had decided to give her more.

After having eaten as much cake as she could without exploding, Daphne was opening her presents under her parents watchful eyes. They both smiling widely, her mother rocking her two years old sister, Astoria, on her lap. She jumped in joy for each gift she open, her eyes were so wide they may never be able to close again and they certainly wouldn't tonight.

When every single wrappings were finally torn to shreds, she went to her mother and gave her a big hug, squeezing a little and protesting Astoria in the process. She was about to do the same to her dad when he spoke.

"Wait a minute sweetie, follow me I have one last special thing for you this year." Daniel got up and started to walk, his daughter following him giddily asking questions that made him smile mysteriously, and his wife calmly walking behind them was closing the walk.

"Daaaad! Why won't you just tell me?! You could have put it with the other gift no? And why didn't you take it with you? Now we have to walk, it's soooo long. Is it like big? Like super super giant so you couldn't move it? Daad? Daaad! I have to know.

After an "extremely long" walk of less than a minute, the Greengrass family came to a half in front of a plain door.

"Is it a new room?" asked Daphne with a little frown. "I like the one I have already" she looked up at her father demanding answers and projecting as much intimidation as a four years old could. Which meant she just looked cuter to her parents.

"Well you won't know until you open the door, will you?" said her father, amused.

With the implied permission she was given little Daphne didn't waste any time opening the door.

When she entered she looked the entire place over. It was spacious enough, but it wasn't really decorated. To the far left was a cabinet labeled : Ingredients. To the right an other one labeled : Instruments. The walls were bare apart from a neutral blue-gray colored paint. And finally, what had caught her interest rested in the center of the room. It was a large and solid looking table that wasn't particularly stylish. It was a work space, one that could be damage without breaking and wasn't really made to be kept in pristine condition. On top of the table, there was one item, a simple cauldron.

Once she was finish gaping, Daphne turned back to see her parents looking at her. "It's to make potions? When do we start? I wanna do magic." Since she was old enough to talk Daphne was asking her parents to do some magic for her and let her do some.

Potion had never been her main interest, because it wasn't as exciting as spells, but she'd take anything to do with magic.

"Well you can start to make them now, it's really dangerous and you're only four, but me and your mother decided that if you followed some lessons with us for the next year, when you turn five, we could start to let you do your own potions with some help and supervision."

"But that's..."

"There are no compromises to be made here young lady" stated her mother, cutting right through her inevitable protest.

"But a year is soooo long, it's like... infinite time." she complained once again.

The childish exaggeration brought a smile to her parents lips and she glared at them for a moment before relenting.

"Fine I'll do the lessons" she said in a drawl. Then she smile and added "Can we start like right now?"

* * *

March 27th 1986

The now six years old Greengrass princess was in her potion's laboratory and extremely excited, anticipating what she would do today for the first time.

When she'd started her lessons on potions two years ago, she'd been in awe from the introduction presentation her parents made. They had explained to her the more impressive feats achieved by the art of potion and made a few live demonstrations they had prepared.

Since that first lesson onward potions had taken first place in her imaginary ranking of "awesome magics". Seeing a simple little liquid create the biggest crater she'd ever seen, before her own too wide open eyes tended to do that.

Her newly burning passion for the subject had never stopped her from complaining once in a while for the first year of purely practical lessons. For that entire year, her brain had been stuffed with information on different ingredients, and a few common potions. What had been drilled in to it repeatedly though, was the dangerous combinations.

At the end of each "class", she had to name every combination of ingredients that were dangerous together and promise never to mix them.

Then a year ago her fifth birthday came, and with it, the permission to make her first practical lesson. For that year, every time she did a potion, she had to name each step and get approval from the parent supervising her before executing it.

And finally after two years of learning what was by now her "favorite magic ever in the entire world", she would be able to make her own potion.

Her father was watching her closely as she prepared her work space in function of the potion she'd brew : The Babbling Beverage.

It was one of the simplest potion there was and one of the dozen of potion she had memorized in the past two years.

"I'm ready" she said eventually.

"Go ahead than, princess. If I think you're about to do something dangerous I'll stop you" Daniel Greengrass said with a smile. "I'm sure you'll be just fine though, my little potion prodigy."

Daphne really didn't know why her parents called her a prodigy, she just did the easiest potion there where and always with her parents help. But her parents knew better. Their daughter was as good as any Hogwarts student with a first year education in potion. They insisted on supervising her this closely only because her body was a lot weaker than an eleven years old's. So the risk of injury was dramatically higher in case of an accident.

More over Daphne could seem to understand that it was possible for someone not to like potion as much as her. They had recently made the same offer they did to Daphne on her fourth birthday to her younger sister Astoria, and she hadn't been interested. Their elder Daughter truly had a rare drive when it came to potion and her parents didn't know how fast she would grow.

Daphne was moving trough every step of the potion with practiced ease, each of them flowing in one an other seamlessly for the first time. Before, interruptions were frequent, as she needed to ask permission before each step, breaking her momentum.

Some fifteen minutes later, she was smiling, while distributing the result of the potion in several vials under her father's proud gaze.

Her potion room hadn't change much in the last two years. The walls were the same apart from the few poster and magazine articles that were installed there over time. There was also a big pantry that was added the previous year to store her potions.

Opening it she carefully stored the vials in their pre-prepared section of the pantry, than turned back to her father.

Her first question to her father was : "What's next"

* * *

March 14th 1985

A piece of paper was laying on the floor. It's only chances to move were the gusts of wind propelling it forward at odds intervals.

The little paper had been traveling with the wind for hours now and by all logic it should have been no more shreds, or a damp pile of unreadable ink, destroyed by the elements of nature. In no cases should it have in the pristine condition it was in.

But magic was a wondrous thing, and this message, this plea born of anger, had been subjected to a great amount of accidental magic. It was this magic, which abled it to stay in good condition, the same magic was also trying to compel anyone it could reach to read it.

But as powerful as the magic imbued in the paper was, something greater was in play here, as no one seemed to be affected. No one even glanced at the paper, and if they did, it was as if they were looking trough it.

Slowly, the paper was moving, always trying to attract people. Without success. Eventually, the wind transported it all the way to the English channel, the paper was apparently going for a swim into the North Sea.

It stayed there, floating, for more than a year, but it eventually reached the coast of France. And a couple month after that, the compulsion finally succeeded in it's purpose, it stuck to some, forcing the young girl to pick it up and read it.

* * *

September 5th 1983

Fleur Delacour was celebrating her 6th birthday in 10 days. Most children in her place would be jumping all over the place, trying to find hidden presents, not comprehending that the surprise was half the fun when you received a gift.

She was instead strolling along the beach which was located near the borders of the extensive grounds of Delacour mansion. As had been the norm for the last year or so, she was very bored.

Her parents were not home, and unlike a muggle child of her age school wasn't a place she frequented. Instead, her parents simply told their elves to take care of her education. They did their best to teach her French and English, how to count, as well as the basics of magical culture.

The specialized education she was receiving from the elf made her advance faster than a muggle of her age. This compliment from her teachers made her very smug and she couldn't wait to get a wand and prove that she was equally good with magic.

'Maybe that would get her parents attention?' she thought. But she dismissed the idea pretty fast 'No, I don't need anything from them'

She didn't like to admit that a part of her hurt each time her mom or dad looked at her with their uncaring gaze. Telling her to occupy herself while they were gone. She didn't like admitting it, for the other part of her, the part she'd unknowingly created to protect her self from the rejection she was experiencing daily, it reveled in it, it took pride in the independence she had from her parents that no other kid of her age achieved.

However, for all her arrogance, born from an amazing intellect and an illusionary self-sufficience, (she would not survive two days without house elves and her parents money) she couldn't denied that she was extremely bored nowadays.

At least, when her mother was still considering her too young to stay home alone, which had been util she was four and a half, she was taking her along during her day. Since her mother was the wife of a wealthy and influential politician : Sebastien Delacour. And a veela to boot, her company was very desirable to many.

Her memories from those times weren't that enjoyable in general, most people, men in particular, never received a second visit, so she never got aquatinted with anybody. And she never was with her mother during her socializing. She was simply left to her own devices most of the time.

Sometimes the host was very nice and introduced her to their children. Those were the nice days, but she never came back, so any potential relationships met a pre-matured ending.

Their had been one exception, it her biggest regret about not being able to play tag along with her mother.

Once a week sometimes twice, they went to the house of one of the only friend her mother still had from her days of celibacy.


End file.
